Authors: Elaine Drennon Little
“I love pies of all kinds, but my mama made this special cake for my birthdays. It was chocolate layers, with chocolate icing that had coconut and pecans—”
“German chocolate!” Claudette shouted. “That’s my favorite, too. I won a blue ribbon at the fair in Albany, back when I was in high school. Two of my three boys always want it for their birthdays, too.”
“What does the other one like?” Cal asked, enjoying the talk of little boys and their likes and dislikes.
“Banana pudding is his favorite. Once I found a banana cake recipe, with chocolate icing and vanilla wafers on top, that’s the only cake for him. He’d still rather just have the pudding, but the cake’s easier to candle-up and cut.”
“Can’t blame him on that, though I might like to try the cake, just to be sure,” Cal said.
They played a few more games. Claudette bought a pitcher and kept filling his mug, and when the owner dimmed the lights and started stacking chairs, Cal realized that once again, he was in no shape to drive home.
“I hope you don’t think I did this on purpose, to take advantage of your—” Cal knew his words were sloppy and slurred, but she didn’t seem to mind, placing a “shushing” finger over his lips with a smile.
“Shhhh,” she whispered. “Don’t worry about it. Just let me take care of you. Every boy needs a good mama now and then.”
Again, Cal remembered nothing of the ride home or what happened when he arrived, but awoke again to a clean house and a pre-prepared breakfast. The bedcovers were a little mussed on
both
sides this time, which concerned him, but not really.
Claudette’s just a drinking buddy,
he thought.
Well, a buddy and a mom, kind of both. She’s like one of the guys. I can’t imagine her even wanting to have sex—
Then he remembered her three sons, which meant she must have at some time or other. But he knew he didn’t have sex with Claudette. No way.
She began to invite him over for dinner with her kids. He tried to turn her down at least one of each three times, since he didn’t want her to infer the wrong idea. The kids were a trip, good little boys who loved to play but knew to mind their mama. And she could cook like nobody’s business. But they weren’t dating, he wasn’t interested in her that way, they were just friends.
When the guys began to tease him about her, he and Claudette made a mutual decision to meet more on the sly, she had her ex to worry about, too. It really worked better that way, he could drink with his friends on weeknights, then, when her ex-old man had the kids, he’d go out drinking with Claudette.
As time progressed, Cal decided he enjoyed his drinking with her more than with his other friends. “The thing with Claudette” stretched from weeks to months to a couple of years, not much of a traditional relationship, but one that seemed to work. A couple of nights a week, Cal had supper with Claudette and the boys, always going home around dark. Cal became quite fond of the kids, fixing their broken toys, telling them stories, even taking them out on the river to fish.
On weekends, when the boys were at their dad’s, Cal concentrated on getting as knee-walking, shit-faced, tow-up inebriated as possible, Claudette driving as he made the rounds to all his usual haunts. If towards the end of the night he slurred or stumbled, she could talk for him, steer him in the right direction, or, on a few isolated occurrences, simply pick him up and take him home. After a while, she’d done it so often that sometimes folks called her, often on weeknights, to come and retrieve Cal from the Sundown, or the pool hall, or some late night card game, just come and peel him off the table or the booth or the floor, so that no one had to call the sheriff.
He called her his best friend, but they never kissed or even held hands. He never bought her a gift, but remembered her boys on birthdays, Christmas, and sometimes no special occasion but that they “needed” new ball gloves, a pup tent, or winter coats. On her weekends at the house on stilts, she made sure the cupboards were full and the laundry kept up. She bought lotions for massaging his stump, ice cream for uplifting his spirits,
Readers’ Digest
and
Field & Stream
for redirecting his restless thoughts.
Cal was drinking more than ever, but he believed life was good, at least as good as he could expect. Yet in those moments, on those blurry, hazy, not-of-this-world-nights, Cal was as lost as Claudette in sharing his broken-but-still-kicking body with another human being. When she lifted him from wherever his stupor had left him and laid him down in his private bedroom, Cal had two strong arms and a healed soul.
And because it was she who healed him, if only for that moment, her face, and hands, and body belonged to no less than an angel. If only he could have remembered these things on the days after, when he was sober.
It was not Cal, or his friends, or even Claudette that put an end to their strange relationship. It was Delores.
Cal had stopped by on his way to supper at Claudette’s, bringing by a few trinkets for the baby—a cloth book about animals, a squeaky rubber-like whale, and, as a last minute idea, the plastic box of shapes he’d brought home from his last day at Warm Springs rehab, so long ago. Little Mary Jane would be two years old soon, and Cal was still often unsure about appropriate gifts for babies, especially girls.
Delores folded clothes—sheets and towels—on the kitchen table. Mary Jane ran to the screen door as he pulled into her driveway.
“UnkCal! UnkCal!” she cried, showing her mouthful of baby teeth and the Mullinax dimple they all wore in their right cheeks.
The room smelled of simmering chicken and dumplings, and Cal almost wished he weren’t committed to Claudette and the boys that night. He knew Claudette’s meal would be equally as good and with plenty to spare, but his sister’s kitchen smelled like home: just drawing in the familiar fragrance made his parents feel just around the corner.
Delores jumped up to unlatch the screen, and Cal grabbed his niece in a single swooping gesture.
“How’s my little Mojo girl?” He ruffled her golden curls with his good hand, and she laid her face against the familiar hook that held her.
“Mojo
love
UnkCal!” She switched her head to his shoulder, reaching out to embrace Cal’s mechanical arm in a bear hug. “UnkCal play! UnkCal play Mojo, now!” She jumped down and ran back to her room, returning holding a love-worn bear, a naked doll, and pulling by a string a dog with a slinky-toy middle.
“Of course, baby girl,” he said. “And I brought you some new play things, too.” Calvin open the crinkled brown bag he’d secured under his good arm.
“Book,” the little girl said, turning a page, placing her face against its inside, then turning again. “UnkCal bring book—am-mah-mah book,” she enunciated, proud of conquering the big word.
“That’s right,” Cal said. “It’s an animal book. And what kind of animal is this?” he asked, pulling from the bag the whale, squeezing it and making it shriek.
“Fish,” she said. “UnkCal bring fish!” She reached for the toy and squeezed it again. She screamed along with its harsh squeal, Calvin hugging her in return.
“More toys? You’re gonna have her downright spoiled,” Delores said, smirking while shaking her head.
“It ain’t much, and besides, she’s gotta know her ‘Unka Cal’ is the next best thing to Santy Claus.” Cal grabbed the little girl again, swinging her in a big circle as she hugged to her chest the new book and toy.
“What dare, what dare, UnkCal?” she asked, bumping against the last bulky object in the bag he still tried to conceal. Cal set her down on the floor, reached under his arm, and withdrew the last item.
“Aw, pitty, pitty,” she exclaimed. Mary Jane had not mastered the “pr” sound. She grabbed the box, shaking it and giggling at the colorful objects.
“Wait, look here,” Cal said, carefully taking the box from her tiny hands, lifting the box top, then shaking out the many shapes inside onto the sparkling clean floor of his sister’s kitchen.
“See here,” he said as he closed it back. “These go inside the box, can you put them in?” Cal picked up a yellow moon, then a blue star, slipping them through the corresponding holes. The baby grabbed a handful, mimicking her uncle without a clue on how to accomplish the task.
“This may be a little beyond her comprehension level,” Delores said, watching her daughter attempt this new and daunting adventure.
“Yeah,” Cal said, “but look at her trying—it’s a sight to behold.” He stretched his arm around his sister’s shoulder, the two exchanging looks as the determined little girl scooped handfuls of shapes onto the box top, watching them fall aside, then scooping them up again.
“Have a seat,” Delores motioned to a kitchen chair. “She’ll be working on this one a while, I guess.” She sat in a chair facing her brother where they could both watch Mary Jane, Delores still folding towels.
“Funny you happened by tonight,” she said. “I was just thinking of you. Made Mama’s chicken and dumplings—you just can’t make it for less than a crowd. I was thinking about calling you, then there you were, pulling up to the door.”
“I’m just on my way to supper, wish I could stay, but I already promised. I’ve been meaning to stop by, had these things for the baby—”
“Supper plans?” Delores said. “You mean, like, a dinner date? Who is she, Cal? Why didn’t I know? And—” Delores looked him up and down, taking in his frayed dungarees, shabby plaid shirt, worn brogans. “—Why aren’t you dressed for the occasion?”
“It’s not really a date, Sis,” Cal said. “Just supper with a friend. We do it once a week or so, nothing like you’re thinking. Just a buddy of mine—wait, do you know ol’ Claudette, that works up at Perry’s tractor place? You remember, she lives on the corner, right as you turn out of the projects and back up towards the water tower.”
“Claudette Fair, that—that—,” Delores’s eyes tightened. “That
she-
man, slut, alcoholic, streetwalking, welfare mom that’s slept with half of Dumas County, with her kids in the next room?” She man-handled a towel into submission, jerking it with a snap, then smoothing it and stacking it onto another. She grabbed a handful more and continued with the same vigor.
“Aww, Sis, be nice. She’s what mama called a ‘right full-figured kinda gal,’” Cal said. “But you know as well as I do that you can’t judge a book by its cover. Claudette’s a hard worker, ask Mr. Perry, or anybody up at the tractor place. She’s a good cook, a good mother to those boys, despite the fact that sorry Rodney Fair don’t do right by ’em at all. She does the best she can. She’s my good friend, and she ain’t no slut, either.” Calvin’s voice grew deeper, gritting his teeth as he spoke.
“Oh, she ain’t, you say? And how would you know, Cal, about the personal life of the ex-Mrs. Fair? Just how good a friends are the two of you?” The pitch of Delores’s voice went higher as the color in her cheeks flamed a rosy pink.
“Just good friends, that’s all,” Cal said. “Not that it’s any damned business of yours. Claudette’s my drinking buddy, and I spend a little time with her boys now and then, that’s all. She helps out with the woman-chores at my house, and I help her in return. That’s all.”
“What kind of woman-chores, Cal? Dear God, you’re not sleeping with her, are you? You realize you could end up with god-knows-what-kind-of diseases, don’t you? And besides, what kind of help could she need from you? Rodney Fair lives just down the road, at Clear Lake. I can’t imagine anything she or those boys might need around the house that he wouldn’t be willing to take care of. Unless she’s needing—” Delores hesitated.
“Just
shut up,
Delores,” Cal said through his teeth. Little Mary Jane began to fret, and Cal picked her up, bouncing her on his knee. “Good baby,” he whispered against her ear, nuzzling her curls as he murmured softly. “Good girl, Mojo,” he said as she lay her tiny head against his chest.
“That ain’t her damned name,” Delores said with a tightened jaw, reaching across the table to caress her daughter’s leg. The baby clung to her uncle, patting his shoulder as he hummed wordless sounds against her neck.
“Sweet Mary Jane,” Cal murmured, as he corrected the name. “Sweet baby girl.” He kissed the top of her head as she continued patting him with her chubby, baby-hand.
“I know she’s your buddy, like one of the guys, Cal, and I know it ain’t none of my business,” Delores said, “but I just worry about you. You don’t need to get mixed up with her is all. You can do so much better.” She looked away, not wanting to continue eye contact.
“What are you saying, Delores?” He raised his voice, but barely, not wanting to upset the child. “It ain’t like you to think you’re better than anyone else, and to be honest, it ain’t real becoming to you. Just what’s your beef with Claudette?”
“I ain’t got any beef with her, personally, I reckon,” she said. “I just don’t think it’s good for you to be spending time with her. There’s things they say about her, you know. She ain’t a real good person, and I can tell you she ain’t much of a mother, just from riding by the house every day.”
“What kind of things do ‘they’ say, Delores? And who the hell are ‘they’? And how in God’s name can you tell what kind of mother she is from riding by her house? Can she tell the same about you?” Little Mary Jane was becoming restless, and climbed back down to her new toys on the kitchen floor.
“They say she sleeps around, Cal, with anybody who’ll lay down with her. Don’t care if they’re old or young, married or single, she’ll lay down with a man in the afternoon and then speak to him and his wife, on the street, the next day, and not think a thing about it. She’s a slut, Cal, she’ll do anything wearing pants, that’s why Rodney left her.”
“That’s not what happened at all,” Cal said. “And just where do you get your information? You’re not cozying up with Mr. Rodney these days, are you? God, Sis, that guy’s pure trash—”
“I’m not ‘cozying up’ with
anybody,
” she screamed, biting her bottom lip and sucking in the tears that filled her eyes, a single droplet streaking her cheek.
Hearing her mother’s duress, the baby began to cry. Delores kneeled down and scooped up her daughter, then stood and walked to the kitchen window. Her brother rose and followed.
“I’m sorry, Sis,” he said, standing behind her and placing his good hand on her shoulder. Mary Jane reached up and placed her hand over his.
“It’s not just seeing her from the road, Cal. Sure the kids look dirty and they’re out with the yard dogs all day, but they look happy and well-fed, I guess. And they’re not in the street. But Imogene’s mama, who lives next door—” Delores faltered.
“Delores.”
“Let me finish, Cal,” she said. “Imogene’s mom says sometimes she leaves, in the middle of the night. Like the lights are out and they’ve all been in bed for hours, and then a light comes on and she’s out the door, gone for an hour, two, even three before she gets back.”
“Sis, you know that’s being nosy. Ain’t nobody’s business if she gets up in the middle of the night, and you know that.”
Delores turned around to face her brother.
“It’s not the getting up, Cal. It’s not that anyone cares where she goes or what she does, it’s just that she
leaves.
” The baby began to squirm, and Delores let her back down, where she ambled back to her toys.